A Second Chance at Eden (18 page)

I frowned round the study; it was almost depersonalized. A white-wall cube with a few framed holograph stills of various animals and plants I suspected where Maowkavitz’s own gene-adaptions.
How come Eden doesn’t know the codes?

It can’t see in. The whole room is made of composite, even the floor, and the patio door is silvered.

Funny. Not allowing her own creation to see what she was up to.

You think that’s significant?

Insufficient data, which you’re going to rectify for me. Today, remember?

If Boston includes police unionization and improved working conditions on its manifesto, they’ll get my vote.

*

After that interview with Caldarola, which I can only describe as badly bungled, I drove back to the police station with the first chill of depression souring my thoughts. Or maybe it was plain honest guilt. I should have gone easier on Davis Caldarola; I knew full well he wasn’t in any state to answer difficult personal questions. Then again, Shannon was quite right saying what she had: if he was guilty, that’s exactly how he would behave.

Eden.

Yes, Chief Parfitt?

Did Maowkavitz and Caldarola argue very often?

They disagreed over many things. But their discussions were mainly conducted on a rational level. I would judge that they debated rather than argued. Although I do recall several rather intense rows over the years; but none of these occurred during the last eight months. His attitude towards her was one of complete devotion.

Thanks.

I didn’t really suspect him. But, Christ, you’ve got to go by the book. Without that, without the law, nothing would function, society would cease to exist. Police work is more than tracking down lone lunatics. But I didn’t expect Davis Caldarola would be too interested in a sociology lecture right then.

I was right. I did feel guilty.

*

I still hadn’t unpacked the small box of personal items I’d brought with me to the office. There wasn’t much in it, holograms of Jocelyn and the twins, paper books, some carved quartz we’d picked up on a holiday – God knows where, the memory was long gone. I sat at the desk and stared at it. I simply couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to unpack. Besides, if Boston did make a bid for independence after the cloudscoop was lowered, I might be packing it up again real soon. If I didn’t stop them. If the police wouldn’t follow orders to stop them. If I didn’t join them.

Christ.

I put my head in my hands and allowed myself a long minute of self-indulgent pity. It was no practical help, but wallowing in misery can feel great on occasion. Almost refreshing.

Eden.

Yes, Chief Parfitt?

Give me the identity signature for Lynette Mendelson, please.

The memory wasn’t quite a visual image, more like an emotional sketch. I carefully ran through the procedure for singular engagement – it would never do for this conversation to be public property – and called her, projecting that unique mental trait which encapsulated her essence.

The response was more or less what I expected when I identified myself.

Oh, shit, I might have known you’d dump yourself into my life sooner or later,
Lynette Mendelson groused.
What did that bastard Zimmels tell you about me?

Only that he caught you trying to sell copies of the genomes for some new transgenic vegetables grown up here.
I tactfully didn’t mention what else was in her file. Lynette Mendelson worked for the JSKP in Eden’s Agronomy Division as a soil chemistry specialist. It put her in a position where she had access to each batch of Pacific Nugene’s new crop designs as they came out of the laboratory for field testing. It was a position which subjected her to a great deal of temptation. Especially as she had a record for fencing prototype DNA splices back on Earth. Technically, she should never have been allowed up here; JSKP didn’t employ anyone with a less than spotless record. But Zimmels had vetoed the Personnel Department’s rejection. A deceptively wily man, Zimmels. Because, sure enough, after twenty fascinating months spent analysing lumps of soil Mendelson reverted, true to form. As an entrapment exercise, it was damn near perfect.

Zimmels made her the inevitable offer: join Boston, or get shipped back to Earth where JSKP will probably have you prosecuted, and certainly have you blacklisted. Unemployment and the dole for life.

Boston gained an ardent new supporter.

That was a long time ago,
Lynette Mendelson said.

It certainly was. And I’m willing to overlook it,
I told her magnanimously.
But how do you think your Boston friends will react to knowing you’ve been supplying the Police Department, and indirectly the JSKP, with the names of their members, and information on their activities for the last two years? Eden has already had its first murder, so I suppose a lynching is inevitable at some point.

You bastard!

You knew perfectly well what you agreed to, Lynette; being a police informer is the same as paying taxes and becoming one of the undead, it lasts for ever.

Zimmels was paying me.

I doubt it.

Well, go ahead and blow me to Boston, then. Fat lot of use I’ll be to you then.

Fat lot of use you are if I’m not kept regularly updated.
I paused; in this game you have to know when to allow a little slack. I’d run enough informers in my own time.
But I do have a small discretionary fund available.

You’d better not be shitting me.

Would I?

All right; but I want real money, not some poxy taxi-driver tip. I’m taking risks for you.

Thank you, Lynette. I want to know about the argument on the timing of when Eden should declare independence. Just how heated was it?

It wasn’t heated at all, not on the surface. These people are born-again politicians, everything they say is smooth and righteous. Policy discussions are all very civilized.

But there was some objection to declaring independence right after the cloudscoop is lowered. Parkinson wanted to wait, I know, he told me. According to him, you wouldn’t have enough money from a single cloudscoop’s revenue to fund the buyout.

That was Bob’s big justification, yes. Penny’s argument was that everything is relative. If today’s operation can buy out today’s shares, she said, then it makes no sense to wait a decade until the profits go up, because the equity base will increase proportionally. If anything, it makes the situation worse, because investors will be far more reluctant to let go of a sizeable ultra-stable successful He
₃
mining operation, which is what JSKP will be with more cloudscoops and the Callisto mass driver. By waiting you’re just adding to the complexity of the leveraged buyout. But if Boston launched its buyout now, they’ll still be able to attract investment for all the planned expansion projects, because the bankers don’t care who’s calling the shots as long as revenue keeps coming in. The whole point of the Boston takeover is to ensure the He
₃
mining doesn’t become invalid, they can’t afford to do without it. If you ask me, the whole timing issue was a clash of personalities between Penny and Bob. They got on pretty well before, then she started accusing him of only joining Boston to help JSKP delay independence, maybe even postpone it indefinitely. That he was a straight company man.

Have they taken a vote yet?

No. It’s all been pushed off until after the cloudscoop lowering is complete. Parkinson, Hardwood, and a few other big guns from Boston’s council are down on the anchor asteroid for the next few weeks supervising the mission. If it’s successful they’ll start the debate for real.

I see. Tell me, do you know if Boston ever tried to recruit Wallace Steinbauer?

He was asked. But Snecma offered him a good position back in the O’Neill Halo. Eden and the JSKP are just opportunities for him, he’s exploiting his success with the Cybernetics Division to put himself way ahead of his contemporaries on the corporate ladder. He’s an ambitious little bastard. Everyone knows that. So he turned Boston down flat; frightened he’d be tarred with the brush of the revolution. That would kill his promotion chances stone dead. Snecma have a seven per cent stake in JSKP, he’s one of their most senior people here.

OK, thanks for your help. I’ll be in touch.

Can’t wait.

*

My watch said it was gone five when Nyberg drove me over to the hospital. Not that I could tell, the day-long noon of the light-tube was dousing the town and parkland in the same glaring corona as it always did. Corrine hadn’t been exactly enthusiastic about my visit, but I’d come over all official, so she acquiesced with a minimum of fuss.

Bicycles filled the streets again. Everyone on their way home. Affinity allowed me to soak up the general buzz of expectation they radiated. When I asked Nyberg if that was always how it was, she told me people were optimistic about the cloudscoop lowering, eager for it to begin. I suppose I hadn’t really been paying attention to the impending mission and what it meant. But of course, to Eden’s population it was the dawn of a whole new era. Almost as if the habitat was coming of age. Boston or no Boston, this was what they were here to achieve.

It was only people like me who were mired in the mundane.

Corrine was sitting working at her desk, with a pile of bubble cubes beside her terminal. ‘Be with you in a minute,’ she said, without looking up.

Fine.

She grinned wolfishly, and slipped another cube into the terminal’s slot.
Your session with Chong went well, then?

Yes. Quite a remarkable man. Makes me feel glad I threw my rank about; someone like me doesn’t often get the chance to talk to a living legend.

Make the most of it.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Corrine held her hand up, concentrating hard on the terminal’s holographic screen. Then she let out a satisfied grunt, and flicked the terminal off. The bubble cube was ejected from its slot.
Amazing. The kids born up here just don’t have psychological problems. I’m going to have to recommend we release two of our paediatric psychiatrists from their contracts and send back to Earth. They’re just wasting their time in Eden.

Yes, you told me before, the kids who grow up with affinity are better adjusted.

So I did. But the degree to which they’ve involved themselves in this consensus mentality is astounding. You’d normally expect one or two unable to cope, but we haven’t found one single case. Maybe I should keep the psychiatrists on after all, they make a fascinating study.

Sure. You were talking about Wing-Tsit Chong.

She gave a miscreant smile.
No. It’s you who’s interested.

Corrine!

OK. Spare me the third degree. You saw how frail he was?

Yeah.
I felt a sudden chill.
Not another terminal illness?

Not exactly an illness, just something we all suffer from eventually: old age. He is over ninety, after all. I could keep him alive for several more years, maybe even stretch it out for over a decade. We have the appropriate life-support techniques nowadays, especially for someone as important as him. But he turned down all my offers. I can hardly insist; and he’s quite happy doing what he does, sitting and thinking all day long. I hope I go like that when it’s my turn; out there in the clean air watching the swans paddle about, rather than in a hospital bed smothering in machinery.

How long has he got?

Sorry, detective, that’s something I can’t give you a precise answer to. I’d say anything up to a couple of years, providing he doesn’t overtax himself. Fortunately Hoi Yin makes sure he doesn’t.

Yes,
I said emphatically,
so I noticed. Do you know how the two of them met?

She’s his student, so she always told me. They were both already here when I arrived four years ago. And in all that time she’s never been involved with anyone. Surprisingly, because enough have tried. Was that what you came over to ask me about? Gossip on Hoi Yin? There’s no need to turn up in person, that’s what affinity is for. Bloody marvellous faculty, isn’t it? You’ll have to practise using it. A lot of people experiment once they’ve had their symbols implanted. Sex is a popular field of exploration with the teenagers, and the teenagers at heart.

Sex?

Yes. Affinity is the only true way to find out what it really feels like from the other side.

Christ. As Chief of Police I think it’s my duty to access your record; how were you ever granted a practitioner’s licence to minister to the sick is beyond me.

Dear oh dear, I do believe our hardened criminologist is blushing. Aren’t you the remotest bit curious?

No.

Liar. I was. It’s . . . interesting. Knowing
exactly
how to please your partner.

I’ll take your word for it.
The damnedest thing was, now she had mentioned it the notion seemed to have lodged in my mind. Curiosity is a terrifying weapon.

So if it isn’t sex, and it isn’t how to meet the divine Miss Hoi Yin socially, what did you come here for?